Slim threw up his hands to show he was not afraid of the boy. "Go ahead. Squeeze your hardware. I reckon I'm big enough to kill," he said.
Then he took Bud's hand and gently slid the revolver back into the holster. The action broke down Bud's bravado. All barriers fell before the simple action.
"It's all up with me," he said brokenly.
Slim sympathized with the boy in his trouble.
"Buck, he told me. Buck, he 'lowed you had your share of that money," he explained.
The boy drew the money from his pocket and handed it to Slim, remarking: "Here it is—all of it, I never touched it—I was goin'—" Bud was about to lie again, but he realized the futility of more falsehoods. "Take it," he added.
Slim counted the money and slipped it in his pocket.
"Bud," he said to that young man. "Me an' you have been pretty good friends, we have. I learned you how to ride—to throw a rope, an' Bud—Bud—what did you take it for? I know you didn't murder Terrill for it, but what did you keep the money for?" He asked the question with anger and annoyance.
Slim had seated himself by the fire. He spoke to the boy as he would to a comrade.
"Can't you see?" the boy asked. "Polly. I wanted to make a home for her—and now she'll know me for what I am, a thief—a thief."